


Leave a Light On

by writteninblood



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drunkenness, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Gotham Recs - Gift Exchange Summer 2018, M/M, Pining, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninblood/pseuds/writteninblood
Summary: “And you’re sure you have no idea who did this?” Oswald asks for the fifth time, as Edward heaves an irritated sigh behind him.“No, Oswald. I told youseveral timesthat I was hit over the back of the head and the next thing I know I’m waking up here with you.”





	Leave a Light On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221blackandwhitestripes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/gifts).



> This was supposed to be short and sweet (I swear it started out that way) but like with most things I write it got a bit out of hand. I hope you like it 221b!

It all starts as a joke.

They’re tied up, on chairs that are back to back, a rope wound tightly around them both. Try as they might to wiggle free, there is no give; whoever did this knew what they were doing. 

“And you’re sure you have no idea who did this?” Oswald asks for the fifth time, as Edward heaves an irritated sigh behind him.

“ _No_ , Oswald. I told you _several times_ that I was hit over the back of the head and the next thing I know I’m waking up here with you.”

Oswald makes a haughty noise of frustration in response as he struggles further against the ropes.

He has no idea why someone would want the two of them together; they aren’t closely associated—they hardly even see each other. They have no joint business enterprises or anything that anyone would be interested in seizing. The only thing Oswald can think of is that their captor simply wants a large combined pay-off in return for their release. Put together, their combined fortune is enormous.

The room they are sitting in is extravagantly decked out, with Victorian patterned wallpaper, tasteful pieces of art adorning the walls, and various antiques positioned on the tables and shelves. Above them is an enormous chandelier.

Oswald finally gives up struggling against his restraints and leans his head backward, realising he’s resting on the dip between Edward’s shoulder blades. Edward doesn’t move or try to shake him off, a fact Oswald notes with a warm feeling of satisfaction. Oswald likes how comfortable they have become around each other over the years, since the trust between them was restored. It’s a friendly camaraderie that he rather enjoys. 

It’s not the worst situation, and Oswald has certainly faced far worse—including the man sitting right behind him. He’s not scared or worried, however, because Oswald knows they will find a way out of their predicament—they always do. Of all the people to be stuck with, it had to be the one person in Gotham with whom he shares a long and complicated history (and a penchant for escaping potentially deadly situations). Yes, there are certainly worse circumstances to find oneself in. He gazes up at the chandelier and sighs wistfully. It seems they are going to have to simply wait for the opportune moment to escape. His legs are starting to ache from being in the same position for too long. 

“You know Eddie, I think we may be getting too old for this.”

“What nonsense,” Edward responds, laying his own head atop Oswald’s, also admiring the fine work of the chandelier. The way the glass refracts the light really is quite enchanting. He finds it very soothing. “ _You_ might be getting too old, but _I_ am still in my prime, thank you.”

Oswald inhales deeply through his nose, amused at how easy it is to rile the Riddler. The man hates it being inferred that he’s either too old or irrelevant to still be baiting the Bat and/or Jim Gordon. Oswald decides to take his ribbing a step further.

“What do you say—when this is all done, we get married and settle down?” Oswald chuckles indulgently, knowing how repugnant Edward will find that idea. The notion is so absurd that the blank canvas in Oswald’s mind can’t even conjure a picture of it. 

Edward snorts derisively in response. “Yes, perhaps we could retire to the country and I could become a beekeeper.”

The reference doesn’t escape Oswald. He’s about to comment on it, but Edward starts talking again. “Did you know honey is the only foodstuff that contains all the necessary nutrients to sustain human life?”

“No I didn’t know that,” Oswald admits. “It’s a good thing you’re going to make it then.” He smiles, even though Edward can’t see. This isn’t going the way he imagined. 

“Well the bees would do most of the work. All I’d have to do is collect it.”

“I do enjoy tea with honey.” Oswald says longingly. He wouldn’t say no to one right now. He’s parched.

“There is so much you can do with honey,” Edward says, and Oswald can tell that Edward is moments away from a full lecture about bees—Oswald is almost tempted to let him give it.

“I could take up gardening.” Oswald says, interested to see what other ludicrous ideas they can imagine for themselves.

“I don’t think your leg would be amenable to that idea, Oswald.”

“True, but I could probably manage to tend a greenhouse.”

“You have definitely been spending too much time with Poison Ivy.”

“You’re probably right.” Oswald concedes. Publicly he acts as if she is rather bothersome, but secretly he quite enjoys her companionship. He is forever indebted to her for saving his life, after all. “How about evenings reading by the fire?”

“I suppose that would be _tolerable_ ,” Edward says, and Oswald can hear the amused lilt in his voice. “What about cooking classes?”

“I will have you know I’m an excellent cook!” Oswald exclaims indignantly.

“Oswald,” Edward says chidingly, “have you even cooked for yourself since you lived with your mother?”

Oswald frowns, knowing he has been caught. “Well no, but I still have all the recipes.”

“Okay, what about dancing classes then? Or painting?”

“We both know my leg won’t allow for dancing. And your capacity for art doesn’t extend much beyond lurid spray paint question marks.”

“Well I don’t know what to suggest then,” Edward says contemplatively. “What other things do married couples do?”

Any amusement they were both deriving from planning their hypothetical future is suddenly sucked out of the room through an invisible vacuum; the following silence is awkward in the extreme. They lean away from each other at the same moment (well, as much as the situation will allow), both clearing their throats in an exaggerated manner. Oswald wants to joke that as far as his knowledge goes, once couples get married they tend not to do that anymore, but the implication of Edward’s sentence is already too palpable in the air between them. Further attempts at humour won’t help things.

The crackling of the fire seems especially loud as the tension between them grows, made worse by the fact they physically can’t distance themselves from each other. At least they are spared having to see each other’s faces. He concentrates on sitting still and keeping his breathing quiet.

Oswald starts feeling uncomfortably hot and can sense Edward’s flustered tiny movements behind him. He is going to have to try and think of something to say to diffuse the strained atmosphere, since they could still be here for hours. He momentarily freezes with horror at the thought. Just moments ago, he wouldn’t have minded. 

The way they’re tied together means the only place they’re forced to touch is their arms, as there are ropes around their wrists as well as around their torsos. Subconsciously, to maintain his calm demeanour, Oswald flexes his fingers and accidentally grazes Edward’s palm. The touch takes them both by surprise and they both jolt as though struck by an electric current. He hears Edward’s sharp intake of breath, and feels him recoil, curling his hand into a fist. Oswald hangs his head and looks down at his knees, his cheeks hot with shame at the fact that Edward can’t bear to be touched by him now. They had undoubtedly been tied up together and locked in the room with the expectation that they would drive each other crazy (which years ago would not have been an unreasonable expectation), but it had actually been rather pleasant until that conversational misstep. The situation between them now is the real torture.

Mercifully, a few minutes later there’s a commotion behind the door, a short prelude to it crashing open. Oswald finds himself utterly uncaring of whether it’s friend or foe. He is just grateful for the distraction from what had become a painfully awkward situation. 

As it turns out it’s his men come to rescue him. They cut loose the ropes, wasting no time in leading Oswald and Edward out of the building, which surprises him by being in the centre of the city. From the inside of the place he had assumed he was at a mansion similar to the one he had called home many years ago. He’s not sure how many more times he can endure being knocked out and kidnapped, waking up in strange places and situations. He had been joking with Edward, but perhaps there is some truth behind his words. Perhaps it _is_ nearly time for him to take down his umbrella.

It’s raining heavily, so Oswald doesn’t waste time dithering, telling his men to take him to the car. The rear door is opened for him, but before he steps inside, he looks around, expecting to see Edward behind him. What he sees as he squints through the gloom is a retreating green blur on the far street corner. Seconds later he’s gone.

After the way this meeting ended, Oswald suspects he won’t be seeing Edward again for quite some time. He gets into the car and stares at the rain running down the window, wondering how a simple joke he made to pass the time had managed to turn into such a disaster.

*

The next time he sees Edward is less than two weeks later. A meeting with two rival gangs has gone awry, descending into a dockside shootout. Oswald is taking cover behind his car, debating whether to attempt getting inside and driving off, when an assault of colour that can only belong to one person appears beside him.

“Evening Penguin,” Edward says, leaning over the top of the hood to fire several shots before ducking back down, leaning against Oswald’s side.

“Edward!” Oswald tries to rein in his surprise. “What on earth are you doing here? This dispute has nothing to do with you.”

“Oswald, you’re just _sitting_ here, it’s like you’re _waiting_ to be shot. Like a sitting duck, or more aptly… a sitting penguin.” He grins, pleased with himself. Oswald doesn’t think he’s ever rolled his eyes so hard.

“Without me, you’ll get shot.” Edward adds, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips in a mock-resigned look. 

Oswald is about to object to such insult, is tempted to comment that it wouldn’t be the first time at the docks, but is cut off by Edward shooting someone who was attempting to round the car and get to Oswald.

“See?” He says smugly as he lowers his gun, retrieving a magazine from his pocket. “Have you booked a venue for our wedding yet?”

Oswald’s mouth falls open. It takes minute for his brain to catch up to Edward’s sudden change in topic. “ _Really_ , Ed? You want to talk about that _here? Now?_ ”

“Well I was just thinking,” Edward says amiably, as if they were discussing the weather, “all the best places are booked months in advance. If you haven’t started looking already you probably should.”

Oswald is unable to do anything other than stare at Edward agape. Surely he can’t be serious?

Edward turns to him after he finishes reloading his gun, a smirk spreading across his face as he takes in Oswald’s shock. Laughter suddenly bubbles out of him. Of course he’s joking. Oswald’s shoulders sag in relief.

“You should have seen your face!” Edward says, still laughing gleefully. 

And that’s how it becomes a running joke between them. Except as with all things with Penguin and the Riddler, it inevitably gets out of hand.

*

The weekend following the shootout, Edward drops by the Iceberg Lounge. It’s a very busy night, and Edward finds Oswald sitting in a cramped space at the bar chatting with Ivy. 

“Good evening!” Edward says cheerfully. 

Ivy waves while sipping her drink through a straw, and Oswald smiles up at him, before noticing that Edward is hugging what looks like some glossy magazines to his chest.

“What have you got there?”

“Well I’m glad you asked!”

Oswald knows immediately that he’s going to regret it.

Edward places the small pile of magazines on the bar in front of him. Gay _wedding_ magazines. Oswald inwardly panics. It’s one thing to joke in private with each other, but to do it in public? 

The magazines even have pages marked with sticky-notes. 

The stool next to Oswald becomes vacant and Edward sits down. Oswald looks at Ivy, who’s eyeing the two of them confusedly. 

“Is there something you want to tell me, Ozzie?”

Oswald says “no” the same time as Edward says “we’re getting married!” The man is practically bouncing in his seat with excitement, and Oswald is utterly bewildered. He had truly underestimated the lengths Edward would go to in order to shock him. There is only really one thing he can do with a man like Edward Nygma.

Up his game. 

He forces his biggest smile onto his face, his demeanour all boastful cheer. 

“Yes we are! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Ivy’s expression doesn’t change and he can tell she is not convinced. She looks around herself as if expecting someone to jump out and say, “just kidding!” 

“Well...congratulations, I guess,” she says grudgingly.

“Thank you!” Edward chirps before directing his attention to the magazines. 

“I’m going to go and see if Selina is here.” She still looks disgruntled. As she passes Oswald, she says in his ear, “you and I are going to have a serious talk later.” And with that she’s lost to the crowd.

Oswald turns back to face Edward, who’s watching him expectantly as he pushes one of the magazines towards him. 

“Okay Ed, I think you’ve had your fun—” 

Something catches his eye and Oswald looks down at the magazine, which is laying open on one of Edward’s marked pages. He finds himself forgetting what he was going to say, as he gazes at the mauve suit the model in the photographs is wearing in wonder. 

“Oh Ed, that is _exquisite_.”

Edward beams at him. They move to a booth in the VIP section and spend the rest of the night poring over the magazines and getting progressively more drunk and outlandish with their ideas. Oswald laughs so hard it hurts, especially at the notion of “penguin page boys.” They talk about who they’ll invite, and the bat-shaped citizens they _won’t_ invite. 

He can’t remember the last time he enjoyed himself so much, let alone the last time he did so with _Edward_. Now he thinks about it, he can’t even remember the last time Edward even came to the Lounge. It feels as though they are planets that inhabit the same solar system but rarely enter each other’s orbit. They’ve seen each other more in the last two weeks than they have in the last two years. Their relationship has become cordial, friendly even, over the last fifteen years or so, but they haven’t been close, the way they once were when Oswald was mayor. It’s strange to be around Edward so much again, but it’s the good kind of strange. Old feelings come rushing back, and the joy he experiences in making Edward laugh is an alien but wonderful feeling—their sense of humour always did seem to be one and the same. They stay sat there until beyond club closing time, almost oblivious to the club shutting down for the night around them. 

“I’m going to feel like hell in the morning,” Edward says, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I can’t hold my liquor like I used to.”

“Edward, you could _never_ hold your liquor.” Oswald corrects, finishing the last of the bottle of wine on the table.

Edward laughs sluggishly; his entire position half-slumped across the table, barely holding himself up, confirms Oswald’s statement.

“This is so much fun,” Edward slurs. “You know, ever since Query and Echo left me…” He trails off, starting to look adorably sad. “Not that they were the same…” He picks up his glass, making a show of analysing the bottom of it, one eye shut. “I guess I just miss them.”

Despite the fragmented speech, Oswald understands. He had heard of their exploits, and together the three of them had pulled off some of the most impressive feats on a resume that takes a year off Commissioner Gordon’s life with every line added. 

“I’m sorry, Ed.” 

“Oh well,” Edward says, struggling to push himself upright. “It is what it is. They couldn’t stay with me forever. Every friendship ends.”

Things have taken a rather depressing downturn, and Oswald can’t imagine them regaining their earlier bubbly exuberance, which means it is time to call it a night.

“You know if you ever want some company, Ed, I’m only a phone call away.”

Edward gives him a watery smile that breaks Oswald’s heart a little. He had never considered that the Riddler might be lonely.

“All right, I think it’s time to get you home,” Oswald says, getting to his feet and shouting to the girl mopping the floor to get Edward a cab, telling her she can go home once she’s done so. He only sways slightly, compared to Edward who almost falls over straight away. He manages to hold himself up on the back of the booth, but walking alone seems like it might be out of the question. Oswald limps around to his side of the table and puts an arm around Edward’s back. 

“Lean on me—steady,” Oswald says, his voice strained. Edward’s legs are like jelly and the rest of him isn’t much better, which results in Oswald bearing a lot of Edward’s weight. By the time they manage to cross the room, a cab is waiting outside the Lounge. 

Oswald eases Edward into the back seat as gently as he can before handing the driver more than enough money and telling him to make sure Edward makes it inside wherever he lives. 

“Edward, tell the driver where you live before you fall asleep,” Edward’s head is already lolling. He mumbles something that Oswald doesn’t hear before drifting off. 

“It’s okay, I got it,” the cab driver says. Oswald nods once and double-taps the roof of the car. 

After the cab departs, Oswald leans heavily on his cane and heads back inside, locking up behind him. 

The club is pristine, apart from the table where he and Edward had sat. The magazines are sitting open in a haphazard arrangement on the table, having avoided the sticky wreckage of the rest of it. Oswald gathers the magazines and heads upstairs to rest his heavy head. 

As he lays down amongst the luxuriant pillows in his silk pyjamas, he feels at once giddy and nostalgic. Oswald had forgotten what it was like to be excited about spending time with someone. Feeling that way had only happened to him once before, and it had been short-lived. But he remembers it as if it was yesterday, so vivid is the memory of his elation. Oswald would be delighted if after all these years they could come together again as friends. And that happy thought is the last thing he thinks before he drifts off to sleep. 

*

Oswald survives his hangover (he’s endured worse, and Edward was the cause of those ones too) and a few days later he’s eating breakfast and browsing the paper when his cell phone rings. The display tells him it’s an unknown number. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you always answer the phone like that?” Comes an amused voice in reply.

“Ed? I assumed you’d died of your hangover.” Oswald finds himself grinning into the speaker.

“You of all people should know it takes more than that to kill me.” Edward says, and Oswald raises his eyebrows, sticks out his bottom lip and nods, even though he can’t be seen. 

“But in all seriousness, it was a close-run thing.” Edward adds.

Oswald laughs, and Edward chuckles down the receiver, right along with him. They’re silent for a few beats, and it’s not uncomfortable. Oswald sits back in his chair and starts idly tracing shapes on the smooth polished table top.

“Is there something I can help you with, Ed?”

“Well…you know how intoxicated we were that night…”

Oh dear. Did Oswald do something? Before Oswald can enquire, Edward continues.

“I don’t remember the whole night, but apparently at some point I was so inebriated I called the number of our favourite venue from the magazines and left a message, requesting a viewing.”

Oswald claps a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound of his laughter, though he thinks Edward hears it anyway.

“The representative of the house called me yesterday and congratulated us on our ‘upcoming nuptials’ and said they had Thursday afternoon available if we wanted to drive out and look at the property. She said the owner would be ‘honoured’ to show us around personally. It seems your name wields a considerable amount of power, even outside Gotham.”

Oswald feels his cheeks warm. It’s not so much the preferential treatment, it’s the fact that Edward is making the effort to relay it. It’s the sort of confidence-boosting thing he would have done as his chief of staff. 

“Goodness, I hope you let her down gently. I’m amazed they called at all with what you must have sounded like in that voicemail.”

“Well…” Edward trails off, and Oswald imagines him restlessly pacing around his hideout. 

“You did tell them we won’t be needing to view the property, yes?”

“I told them I would check with you and get back to them.” Edward says, almost tumbling over his words in his haste to get them out. “It _is_ a very beautiful place, Oswald. It would give us a chance to get away from the city for the afternoon. There’s no harm in looking, is there?”

Oswald is lost for words, and briefly wonders if Edward is still hungover. 

“Ed…” He starts, slowly. “You do know we’re _not_ getting married, don’t you? The other night is a little hazy in my mind but I’m fairly certain I didn’t do anything as daft as propose to you…”

“No, you didn’t. I would remember _that_ ,” Edward replies too quickly. “I just thought a change of scenery and some company might be quite pleasant.”

It seems Edward actually just wants to spend an afternoon together, just the two of them, and Oswald certainly isn’t going to refuse that. 

They arrange for Edward to pick Oswald up around eleven on Thursday, and Oswald goes about the rest of the day with a spring in his step. 

*

Oswald dresses himself in different attire to usual, one more appropriate for a trip out to the country. He chooses a grey and black tweed three-piece suit, with a white shirt and silk purple tie with matching pocket square. Oswald eyes himself in the mirror, satisfied and quite enjoying the change from his darker businessman suits. He runs his hands proudly along the lapels of his jacket as he checks everything one last time. He foregoes an overcoat, as it’s summer—the three-piece suit will be stifling enough as it is. 

When Edward arrives, he sees the man had the same thinking, except in reverse. The customary garish green is gone, exchanged in favour of a dark green, almost grey jacket and matching trousers, a tan waistcoat, a black and tan checked shirt underneath, finished with a black tie. Even though the colours are far more muted than normal, the pieces all put together do have a whimsical quality, true to Edward’s nature. Oswald approves very highly of his selections indeed.

As soon as Oswald gets into the car, Edward gives him a small smile and tips his hat. He doesn’t waste time on small talk, instead putting his foot down, seemingly eager to get going. 

Oswald tries to remember the last time they sat side by side in the front of a car like this, but he can’t. Usually one of them is in the back unconscious. 

“You know how ridiculous this is, don’t you?” Oswald says as they pass the city limits. 

Edward grins and Oswald knows he’s about to hear about some ludicrous activity he had participated in at some time or other.

“Compared to say…diverting a blimp and saving Gotham?”

“Yes well, someone had to save Gotham before the Bat emerged. Though even he asks me for help more often than not.”

“For a supervillain, you do seem to do a lot of... _good_.” The word almost seems foreign to Edward, and he says it as though he's testing how it feels to refer to a concept that has grown...distant and unfamiliar to him. It's not pronounced with distaste exactly, more a curiosity—as though if he can say it, then perhaps it wouldn't be beyond him to _be_ it again one day.

“Such is the burden of sanity.” Oswald regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. He glances at Edward, who purses his lips and doggedly focuses on the road. 

“I didn’t mean that you’re insane.” Oswald says, and he really doesn’t. Edward has never been crazy—just at the mercy of something beyond his control. He seems to have stabilised over the years; perhaps he has found some medications to help him, or some other method of coping—he doesn’t know him well enough anymore to ask. There is so much Oswald doesn’t know about Edward’s life outside of his criminal activity. 

Edward sighs doubtfully at Oswald’s words, still not looking at him. 

“There’s a fine line between genius and insanity—”

“Oscar Levant.” Edward interrupts, turning to look at him with a smile. Outside the car, the clouds part and Oswald sees the sun for the first time in what feels like years. He squints, fumbling for the sun visor. 

“Anyway, my point is that you’ve made a career out of walking that line. _That_ is what makes you the Riddler.”

Edward smiles again, and Oswald looks out of the window at the blindingly bright fields rolling past, feeling relieved. They spend the rest of the drive in a comfortable silence; Oswald feeling as though he’s in some sort of suspended reality, where driving through the countryside in the sunshine with Edward by his side is something that could feasibly happen. It’s one of those days where life feels too perfect to be real. Oswald tries to cast aside his doubts and enjoy this for what it is. He knows instinctually that nothing like this will ever happen again. After all these years, Oswald is nothing if not a realist.

Eventually Edward takes an exit off the highway and Oswald starts wondering how they should present themselves to Mrs MacLeod, since as far as she knows, they are engaged. 

“Ed, do you think we need to act like a couple?”

“I don’t think anyone would expect public displays of affection from people like us,” Edward replies, as a grand old house appears behind a line of trees on their left. 

_People like us._ Oswald frowns—he knows it isn’t meant as an insult but somehow it feels like one. 

“So no touching then,” Oswald says, just to be clear. 

“Disappointed?” Edward grins as he turns into the driveway. 

Oswald rolls his eyes. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” he says, his tone droll. 

This agreeable atmosphere between them is how Mrs MacLeod finds the supposed happy couple, as she comes out of the property to greet them. 

“Welcome!” She says cheerfully. “My congratulations to you both. I’m so happy you’re considering our little place for the wedding of the year.”

 _Little_? The house is so cavernous one could fit a European tax haven inside it.

“I was surprised not to find any news or announcements though—are you keeping it on the down low?”

Clearly Mrs MacLeod has been trying to do her research and been coming up empty. Oswald starts thinking it may have been a mistake not to discuss the details of their deception beforehand.

“Yes, we’re holding off on making an announcement until all our plans are in place. When you’re as high profile as we are, speculation tends to make things difficult.” Edward always was a flawlessly quick thinker and liar.

“Of course, of course! Well come on in. Would you like a glass of champagne?” She is clearly going to drive a hard sell, and Oswald is already a little impressed. She is a small but portly middle aged woman, and he gets the feeling that behind her friendly and bubbly exterior, there is a shrewd businesswoman. Both Oswald and Edward take a glass each from the waiter who has been standing just inside the door. And then Oswald looks at the house. _Really_ looks at it. 

The entrance hall is mostly white marble, with great columns and a light and airy feel. Everything about the place screams wedding. Despite the constant reminders of their deception, he can’t help but be enchanted by the architecture. Even drunk, he and Edward have impeccable taste. 

She goes on to show them the different rooms of the house; the dining room with its venetian arch windows, the winter garden with statues of Greek gods and goddesses and vines snaking around the arched steel beams over their heads. It paints quite a charming picture, like something out of a fairy tale. Even though the next two rooms she shows them are off-limits for events, Mrs MacLeod allows them a look anyway—the library is especially beautiful and Edward almost seems to forget himself with his excitement at all the old tomes, handing Oswald his glass so he can get a closer look without risking spillage.

The waiter seems to magically appear every time their glasses are empty, somehow managing it without hovering irritatingly. Oswald wonders if he could train his staff to do that at special events at the Lounge. It would be a useful skill for them to have.

The second off-limits room is a mostly empty but decadently decorated space with a grand piano in the corner, which Edward greatly admires. Oswald can picture him sitting at it, his long fingers dancing across the keys. Oswald wonders at him not mentioning music, when they talked about their pretend future. 

Then she takes them upstairs to the guest suites. She shows them some lavish bedrooms for the important few that might stay at the house with them, but saves the master suite for last. Which of course only contains one bed, the place where they would spend their wedding night. He sees Edward’s cheeks colour slightly and realises this scenario hadn’t occurred to him either, which makes Oswald feel marginally less embarrassed. 

The room is navy blue and green in colour and with the rich wood of the furniture, it has a very regal feel about it. Had Oswald thought about it, he would have expected red, the universal colour of love. He is almost disappointed it isn’t, simply because the house is perfect for them, and they won’t be coming back.

Mrs MacLeod leads them back downstairs to the winter garden. She hands them maps of the gardens that are usually given to tourists and tells them they’re welcome to spend the rest of the afternoon exploring it, bidding them farewell and returning to her own apartments on the far side of the property. Edward promises to be in touch. Oswald feels guilty that they have no intention of hiring the place, but he will definitely recommend it to everyone he knows that mentions planning a wedding. It’s the least he can do. But for now, he puts the guilt to the back of his mind. He has Edward Nygma all to himself, and some beautiful gardens to explore.

*

At the far end of the gardens, there is a maze. Edward is almost beside himself with excitement as they start at the same time but head in different directions. Oswald keeps a calm head and somehow manages to reach the centre first. He debates doubling back on himself and letting Edward win, but he worries that Edward will somehow know, and the Prince of Puzzles certainly wouldn’t want to win dishonestly. Moments later Edward comes running around the corner, sighing dramatically when he sees Oswald already there, one hand leaning on the sundial, the other on his cane, affecting a bored expression. 

“Where’s the Triwizard Cup?” Edward asks, half-smiling. 

Oswald’s brows furrow in confusion. “The what now?”

“Never mind,” Edward dismisses quickly. “Hold that pose.” He fishes in his pocket and produces what looks like a compact camera. Oswald is immediately suspicious as to why Edward would want to take a photo of him but adopts what he calls his ‘power pose’ as Edward snaps what turns out to be a polaroid. Oswald isn’t sure how that photo will come out as he was still looking down and attempting to school his expression when he heard the button click. Edward flips the photo in his hands as he approaches Oswald and puts the camera back in his pocket. 

“This would be a good idea for my next challenge,” Edward says, looking around at the maze somewhat dreamily. “It would have to have some sort of roof so the Bat can’t fly away though. Something like this is far too easy for my enemies.”

The photo has set, and Edward eyes it with satisfaction. “Candids are always best,” he informs Oswald as he hands it to him. 

Oswald scrutinises it through his monocle and has to agree that the photo is rather charming, even if he isn’t about to put it on Iceberg Lounge advertisements. He’s looking down, smiling, yet somehow still managing to look regal, offset by the sun-drenched green all around him. He hands it back to Edward, and starts walking past him, retracing his steps. Wordlessly, Edward follows him out of the maze.

The garden has one last surprise in store for them: the aviary. This time it’s Oswald’s turn to lose himself to excitement. He walks right up to the edge of the enclosure to admire the lovebirds as they hop from swing to swing. He thinks he hears Edward taking another polaroid but is too enchanted to care. Oswald has often wished he could have his own aviary, even with the constant din of their chatter. Edward comes to stand by his side.

“You know, lovebirds are similar to penguins in their mating habits—they seek a profound bond and form monogamous long term relationships.”

Oswald already knows this of course. Edward’s knowledge exceeds his on many subjects, but not birds. He looks up at Edward and smiles, indulging him.

“That’s how they got their name of course. They’re very social birds and love to sit beside their partners for long periods of time.”

There is one such pair sitting side by side on one of the swings, preening each other. It puts Oswald in mind of the way Edward used to smooth out Oswald’s suits, picking bits of lint off, fussing like a mother hen. He turns away from the aviary.

“Shall we sit for a while?” Oswald says, realising after he says it that Edward might think he was referencing the lovebirds. “My leg could do with a rest,” he amends.

“All right, the sunken garden isn’t far away. If we just follow this path here…”

The sunken garden, which is tucked away between the dining room and the winter garden, is as lovely as everything else. There’s a water feature in the middle, and all the flowers, roses mainly, are white. Oswald remembers being told that they keep the flowers white for wedding photo sessions. Around the water feature there are four white wrought iron seats, and Oswald sits beside Edward in one of them. The only sounds are that of the water feature and the low buzzing of insects. It’s a perfect summer’s day, the type of day that simply doesn’t exist in Gotham City. He is tired from wandering the house and gardens for the last few hours, but it’s the good kind of tired. He feels at peace.

His mother would have loved this place.

For a while, they just sit, the sun hanging low in the sky. Oswald watches dandelion seeds float on the air, perfectly content. Beside him, Edward sits still as a statue, one leg crossed, hands loosely clasped in his lap. Oswald doesn’t look at him, but he can sense that the man isn’t feeling quite as serene as he is. 

He starts noticing small movements in the corner of his eye, like Edward is gathering the courage to say something, but he never does. Oswald wonders if he’s afraid of breaking the tranquillity of the situation. Oswald decides to assist him.

“I suppose we should get back on the road,” he says, and just like that it’s as though the spell of the garden is broken.

“Oswald—I have to confess something.” 

Oswald feels a shiver steal over his skin. He is sure that whatever is coming next is going to ruin what has been a lovely afternoon. He says nothing and waits for Edward to continue.

“It was me who kidnapped you. I knocked you out and brought you to my hideout and hired someone to tie us up. When things got…uncomfortable, I sent your men a tip off about your location.”

Oswald’s grip on his cane tightens. It seems wrong to discuss the nefarious goings on of the city in such a bright, clean place, almost as if the words are polluting the atmosphere around them. 

“Why would you do that?” Oswald waits for the inevitable betrayal—Edward will tell him this was all some elaborate scheme of his to humiliate him and exploit his weaknesses. He prepares himself for the worst.

“I wanted to spend some time with you.” 

This response is so unexpected that Oswald doesn’t know quite how to react. So he scoffs, then he laughs, then he looks at Edward incredulously. 

“Edward, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You could just visit the Iceberg Lounge—I didn’t need another Riddler shaped lump on my skull.”

“I only wanted to see you. Alone. No distractions. Getting to knock you out was just a bonus.”

Oswald rolls his eyes. “Well next time, just give me a call and you can visit me privately.” Oswald rubs his hand over the back of his head. He has been hit there so many times over the years, it is a wonder there is no lasting damage. 

“That’s not all.” Edward says, a little uncertainly. 

Oswald turns to look at him again, full of dread. “Oh god, what else is there?”

“I know this whole thing has been a joke, but it got me thinking. I’ve never thought about _after_. After I’m done with all this. I’ve been so consumed with creating a lasting legacy that I’ve never thought about my own future, _before_ I’m gone.” He looks at Oswald, and he no longer looks like the man he’s gotten used to over the years; the one who doesn’t have time to waste on emotional entanglement, who only has a mind for the game. He looks tired and lonely.

“I don’t want to grow old alone. I want to have something to look forward to when I’m finished being the Riddler.” 

Oswald’s heart constricts; he doesn’t dare speak.

“I know you’re thinking about…nesting,” Edward gives him a small smile, “but I’m not quite there yet. I understand if you don’t want to wait.”

Oswald is aware of his mouth hanging open and promptly closes it. “Wait for _what_?”

“You know!” Edward says, his demeanour suddenly cheerful. “Our house in the country. Beekeeping. Reading by the fire. All that stuff.”

“Hold on,” Oswald says, blinking rapidly and waving his hands about, trying to make sense of what Edward is saying. “You’re telling me you actually _want_ that? With me?”

“Yes.” Edward says, confused and a little impatient. Oswald knows he hates it when he has to repeat himself. “Did I not make that clear?”

Oswald’s head is awhirl. He had never expected that what Edward wanted to tell him might be something _good_. He looks at Edward again, trying to gouge his sincerity. Oswald doesn’t see any lies there, doesn’t really see why he _would_ lie about something like this anyway. What could he possibly hope to gain from it?

It all makes sense now, why Edward took the joke and ran with it—it was an excuse to spend more time with Oswald. It gave Edward the justification he thought he needed in order to have Oswald’s company. He wishes Edward would stop overcomplicating everything and just knock on the door. 

Given his revelation about Query and Echo the other night, Oswald supposes he can understand Edward’s insecurities. They were his henchwomen for quite some time, and Edward clearly enjoyed having them around, having their support behind each of his endeavours. The Edward before him now is desperately lonely, and terrified of a future with nothing but his own company. Perhaps that could even be meant literally—if left to his own devices with no grand schemes, his mind might fall apart and torment him, the way it used to. Maybe he really will go insane. 

Oswald is still an unfailing romantic, but he doesn’t have any illusions about what Edward is asking of him. It’s not about love or lust, it’s about the companionship of soulmates. Even though Oswald wants more—has always had that desire buried deep inside of him since the night on the couch that began it all—Edward simply doesn’t feel that way about him. But that doesn’t matter. Edward is the only one Oswald has ever wanted to spend his life with. 

Oswald chooses his words carefully.

“I was waiting for you before we met. I have waited for you since. And I will go on waiting for you.”

Edward smiles, his eyes a little glassy. “Thank you,” is all he says before turning back to the fountain.

And that, Oswald supposes, is that. It hardly feels like they just agreed something as momentous as growing old together. They sit in the garden for a while longer, letting their new resolution settle over them. It’s not until the sun starts to dip below the mountains in the distance and there’s a distinct chill in the air that they finally decide to leave. Oswald follows Edward out of the sunken garden, casting one look back at the chair where they’d sat. He wonders if they’ll ever come back.

They drive back to Gotham in silence, not even listening to music. There’s just the dull thunder of the engine in Edward’s old car, and other cars whooshing past on the highway. 

Oswald isn’t sure how to feel. He _wants_ to be elated that Edward has decided to spend his retirement with him. But a large part of him is wary of how fragile this agreement is. Edward hadn’t specified the length of time he might want to go on before he retires; Oswald has no idea how long he’ll be waiting and holding on to the idea of Edward coming back to him for good. So many things could happen in the intervening time. But Oswald knows he’ll wait as long as it takes. There isn’t, and has never been, anyone else.

*

When they get back to Gotham, things go back to the way they were prior to the kidnapping that started it all. That is, they hardly see each other. Oswald had thought, given how lonely Edward had confessed to being, he might make more of an effort to come by the Iceberg Lounge, but he doesn’t. Oswald always looks through the crowds for him, his heart always leaps when he sees someone wearing green. But he’s never there.

It’s so much harder to bear the solitude of his life after Edward re-entered it. Had none of it happened, he might have been able to carry on as before, content with his successful business endeavours and walking the line between hero and villain. Oswald is valuable to powerful people on both sides of the line, and the only person in Gotham to hold such a position; one he has cultivated over years of playing the city like one giant chess board. It _had_ almost been enough, until Edward filled him with renewed hope—the hope that someone might want to live out their days with him, not because of his fame and money, but for actual want of his company, _him_ as a person. Oswald Cobblepot, not the Penguin.

Now he wants that companionship with a fierceness he has never wanted anything. 

The years following their afternoon in the country are the most prolific of Edward’s career, and Oswald can’t help but be impressed. But he’s also disheartened, because it feels as though Edward is forgetting all about him, and Oswald’s promise. The more time that passes, the more Oswald begins to feel like the entire thing was his mind providing wish fulfilment in a dream. That one afternoon is a lighthouse beam in the darkness of his life. 

Little by little, Oswald starts to give up hope. He told Edward he would wait, and he will. But he begins to think that Edward will make him wait a decade or longer, that’s if he comes to him at all. 

Barely five years have passed when he does.

He shows up at the Iceberg Lounge early one afternoon, his suit singed, face blackened in places with soot, hair wild, glasses cracked. He staggers over to Oswald who jumps off his stool at the bar. Edward flings his arms around him and leans his head on Oswald’s shoulder. The smell of burning makes Oswald’s eyes water. It’s almost overpowering. 

“I’ve had enough,” Edward says, his voice croaky and breathless. His fingers are grasping tightly at the back of Oswald’s jacket. “I’m ready.”

And that’s all that needs to be said. Suddenly the smell of burning is the best thing Oswald has ever smelled. 

*

They don’t get married, but they do take up a quiet residence in the country. They choose a quaint Victorian house that’s much smaller than the mansion but meets all of their requirements. They both decide they don’t want to hire staff, at least at first, meaning they’d need a smaller home to maintain. The most important thing is that it has plenty of outdoor space and is tucked away from the world. 

At first they move around each other awkwardly, trying to find a way to fit together again after all these years. Eventually they settle into a nostalgic domesticity that is at once how it used to be yet also something entirely new. 

Oswald finds it surprising how two people can share a home yet not be around each other all the time. They keep themselves occupied with their own projects—Edward with his beekeeping and maintaining the garden, Oswald with his greenhouse and his books. He hasn’t given up the Iceberg Lounge, opting to hire other people to run it instead. He checks in most days, gradually doing so less and less, placing more trust in the new management with every day the place doesn’t go up in flames. 

It’s not rare for the only time they see each other to be in the evenings for dinner, and reading by the fire afterwards. Each night they retire to their separate bedrooms, bidding each other goodnight as they trudge sleepily down the hallway. 

Oswald finds himself happy, mostly. As the weeks go by, living with Edward yet not being able to touch him, goes from being a niggling distraction to a full-blown struggle. On the occasions that they get up at the same time, Oswald wants to kiss Edward good morning. He wants to kiss him goodbye as they each prepare go about their respective days. In the evenings, when they’re done reading, he wants to go into the same bedroom, get into the same bed, and curl himself around Edward. He had never anticipated this deep desire for physical comfort, and gradually it reaches a point where his heart aches every time he looks at Edward. But he resolves to say nothing about it. He won’t risk ruining everything they have, everything he has waited so long for. 

However, everything changes one lunch time when Edward finally presents Oswald with a jar of honey, the first he’s managed to make since setting up his apiary. Edward is so excited and proud that Oswald can’t help but grin back at him.

“Shall we have some tea and test it out?” Oswald says, moving to retrieve the necessary items from the kitchen cupboards.

“That sounds good, but first I have another gift for you.” He captures Oswald’s hands in his own. Oswald’s heart skips a beat before thumping double time. They _never_ touch each other—they haven’t since the day Edward showed up at the Iceberg Lounge and hugged him. Oswald would know—he’s hyper aware of Edward’s proximity of all times.

“Follow me!” Edward says, transferring his grip to just one hand so he can tug Oswald along after him. 

They head out into the garden and around to the other side of the house, where Oswald never goes. He has heard a lot of hammering and drilling in recent weeks, but he just assumed that Edward was building an extension to his apiary, since the first one had gone so well. 

But _this_ is nowhere near the apiary, and in an entirely different corner of the grounds. What he has actually built, Oswald realises as he sees the structures inside the framework, is an _aviary_. He stares at it, utterly astonished. He dimly realises that Edward is still holding his hand—tightly.

“Well, do you like it?” Edward doesn’t wait for an answer before carrying on. The man is practically bursting with energy. “I thought we could see about getting some birds this weekend. Your choice of course. I’ve been in touch with a few places—”

“It’s _wonderful_.” Oswald cuts in. “Suddenly making tea doesn’t really seem like enough…” He chuckles nervously. Oswald doesn’t know how he can ever begin to repay Edward for this. 

Edward squeezes Oswald’s hand and turns to properly face him. He slips his hand free and brings it up to caress Oswald’s cheek very lightly. Oswald feels his eyelids flutter at the touch. He’s breathless and uncertain about what is happening; after many months of not so much as brushing past each other, Edward’s little touches tug at his heart painfully and bring tears to his eyes. Some of his confusion must show because Edward says, “I’m ready.”

The last time Edward said that, they bought a house together and left Gotham. Oswald thinks he knows what Edward means this time, but hardly dares to hope. It feels too surreal, like that afternoon in the sunlight all those years ago. He can read uncharacteristic levels of emotion in Edward’s face, and it slowly dawns on Oswald that Edward has at long last fallen in love with him too, or is at least finally able be true to himself.

He looks up at Edward full of wonder, no longer inhibited with his staring. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth are more pronounced, and his hair is at least half grey now. These are the only things that betray Edward as being an older man. The pain in Oswald’s leg is worsening with age, with additional aches and pains as his body protests years of not walking properly. He has prominent streaks of grey in his hair, and a lot more freckles now. They’ve gotten older, there’s no mistake about that. Where once it might have unnerved him, Oswald now finds it a comfort. After many brushes with death, he _gets_ to grow old. With the love of his life, who at long last, fully reciprocates his feelings. Happiness surges through him and he smiles, Edward beaming back, understanding flowing between them, unspoken. It's finally their time.

It takes Oswald too long to realise that Edward is leaning down, only having time to breathe Edward’s name before their lips meet. Overcome, Oswald grabs fistfuls of Edward’s sweater, desperately needing an anchor. Edward’s other hand comes to rest on the other side of Oswald’s face. His touch is almost unbearably gentle, and undeniably worth waiting for. The kiss spins out of his control as it deepens, his movements instinctual as he gradually loosens his grip on Edward’s sweater, sliding his hands up his chest, around the back of his neck and into his hair. A new feeling makes itself known as it twists like molten lava in his stomach—desire, all consuming. 

“Shall we have tea later?” Edward asks after they’re forced to break apart for air, his voice dripping with lust. 

“Yes, I think tea can wait,” Oswald agrees fervently. He takes Edward’s hand and leads him back into the house. They bypass the kitchen and go straight upstairs, laughing breathlessly as they hurry into Oswald’s room (it’s the nearest). 

That night, Oswald doesn’t sleep alone. Or any of the nights after that.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise my descriptions of their suits might sound a bit weird but these are what I had in mind for the section at the country house: [Ed](https://thejollyhiker.files.wordpress.com/2018/06/eds-country-suit.jpg) and [Oswald](https://thejollyhiker.files.wordpress.com/2018/06/screen-shot-2018-06-29-at-16-44-22.png). I spent a very enjoyable hour looking at suit porn before settling on these XD
> 
> [This](https://s0.geograph.org.uk/geophotos/05/53/63/5536302_226f40fa.jpg) is the inspiration for the sunken garden, at a stately home I visited a few weeks ago.


End file.
